


A better man than us

by Elia41



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adopted Harry Potter, Adoption, Family, Forgiveness, Gen, Good Severus Snape, Happy Harry Potter, Redemption, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elia41/pseuds/Elia41
Summary: When Lily died, she took any trace of loyalty Snape had toward the Death Eaters. Set to honor her memory and become a better man, he decides to take Harry and raise him as his own, away from England and - hopefully - trouble.But the past has a nasty habit of catching up to you, be it yours or that of the Wizarding World as a whole.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Lily Evans Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 9
Kudos: 47





	1. Prologue

Severus Snape walked the ruined cottage, his heart tightening in his chest. He knew. He hadn’t seen her yet but he knew. Lily was dead. And it was his doing.

A little past the entrance was the corpse of James Potter, spotless. The Killing Curse never left a mark. It was quick and painless. The cleanest killing tool, and it couldn’t be blocked. The Death Eater spared a single thought that he wished his former rival had suffered a little before moving upstairs.

He reached the nursery, and noticed right away the damage was much greater. Part of the roof was gone, for one, but it was the water dripping from the ceiling and the walls that was the real clue. Snape knew Lily enough to know what it meant: even though her body had no mark, the love of his live had gone fighting.

And, indeed, she was there, her body unmarred and unmoving. Cold. A Killing Curse as well. It had been instant but, given the damage, Snape knew as a fact Voldemort had taken a few solid blows before nailing her. There was no trace of the Dark Lord but a faint aura in the air, but the fact Voldemort was nowhere in sight and the infant in the crib was wailing left no doubt at the fight’s outcome.

Voldemort was dead. And Harry Potter, the accursed son of Snape’s old rival and the woman he loved, was alive.

The Death Eater knelt and took Lily in his arms. Then he gave in his sorrow, mourning the only person he had ever loved.

‘ _Lily, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Lily, this isn’t what I wanted. This was never what I wanted. I wanted you to live. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry. Please, forgive me. I’m sorry._ ’

Then he rose and looked at the crib. The boy had stopped wailing and was looking at him.

For a single moment, Snape was startled. Never mind the lightning-shaped scar, the boy looked nothing like his father, except for the black tuft on his head. His eyes, wide and green, were the same as his mother. Delicately, the Death Eater took him. The boy made a questioning sound. Snape held him. The boy warbled. Looking one last time at Lily’s corpse, Snape picked a handful of things and made his way out.

“Lily, forgive me. It is my fault you died. I will be better, this I swear. I will raise your son as my own.” He gazed at Harry’s eyes, green and sleepy. “I promise I will take care of him. He will be a better man than James and I. A good man, unlike us. I owe you that much.”

_I’m sorry. I love you._

He had to leave, and fast. His former comrades would try to avenge the Dark Lord and hunt the boy. Snape couldn’t allow this to happen. He had to disappear, and he had a few ideas on how. A first Apparition in his home to pack what he needed, then he broke his wand without an afterthought. If they wanted to track him, this would be one less loose end. Another Apparition, this one to the cliffs overlooking the Channel near Bournemouth. Two jumps. Then, he would be where he wanted. The first jump took him on the other side of the Channel, near Cherbourg. The second took him near the Paimpont Forest. Now, all he needed was a bit of walking to reach one of the villages surrounding the forest. He would find a town, small and innocuous, and raise Harry there.

As he walked beneath the trees, a growl made him stop. The wizard tensed. The sound hadn’t come from a regular animal.

The growl came louder. Heavy footsteps crunched the fallen leaves. Even in the darkness of the night, Snape didn’t miss the blood-red eyes. The stench of ozone filled the air.

A barghest. A Merlin-forsaken barghest. Three meters at the shoulder, jet black fur, hungry crimson eyes and two rows of pearl-white fangs in a mouth dripping with drool. The canine was an abomination, big and hungry and quite eager to snack on the cute little boy in his arms. Snape felt fear, but it wasn’t for himself.

Fear was swiftly replaced with rage. The wind blew as the stench became more pungent. In Snape’s arms, Harry wailed, as if he could sense the fury of the incoming fight. The wizard held him tight and glared at the beast.

“You want to eat him? Get him if you dare.”

The air seemed to be filled with electricity. The barghest lunged, and the storm raged in the woods.

Snape panted and looked at Harry. Thank Merlin, the boy was alright. The barghest? Not so much. He glanced at the still-smoking corpse. Its fur was singed in irregular patterns. After a moment of hesitation, he took one of the beast’s smaller fangs. A small trophy. Then he went back to walking. After what seemed like an hour, he found a small clearing where a unicorn was grazing. Snape smiled. The horned horse was pretty.

The unicorn raised its head and turned to him. Suddenly, there was an odd feeling in the air, as if something wasn’t quite right. The wizard tensed and clutched Harry, ready to fight once more. An amused chuckle echoed across the clearing.

Then _she_ appeared.

Snape blinked. He had never seen, much less read about creatures like the one that appeared before him. It was feminine, that much he could tell. It was also clothed in garments of vines and leaves whose shade went from yellow to red. Its hair was black, yet he could see holly berries and leaves growing directly from the skin. Finally, the creature’s curves were generous, and he was glad the vegetal garments were tailored to give it some modesty. Still, there was no denying the creature was beautiful.

It was, however, beautiful in an otherworldly way. The creature before him was _not_ human. Even though it smiled motherly, Snape didn’t let his guard down.

The creature put a hand on an oak tree and green light ran on the bark, focusing on a ball of mistletoe that grew to a rather nice size. Then the ball fell. The creature picked it, carefully cleared the stem and held a hand. Snape raised a brow. Something tugged in his pocket. The wizard nearly jumped when he realized it was the barghest fang. The fang tugged more insistently. Reluctantly, the wizard picked it. He wasn’t surprised when it flew to the creature’s hand. What did surprise him was the creature combining the fang and the mistletoe stem. There was a flash, and the result flew back to him.

It was a wand. Ten inches, made of mistletoe and the fang of the barghest he had killed. The moment he held it, he knew the object was _his_. It obeyed him, and it would do so even after being conquered. He had killed the being its core came from. This ensured the wand’s loyalty comes hell or high water. The combination of barghest fang and mistletoe also made it powerful. Mistletoe was a symbol of life and death alike, a poison as much as a cure.

The creature smiled warmly and nodded. Snape relaxed. The gift of the wand was a clear tell: it wasn’t hostile. The unicorn neighed, requesting them to follow it. After half an hour of walk, they reached a village at the edge of the forest: Concoret. There was a small, clearly abandoned house on the outskirts. Snape allowed himself a confident smirk. Time to see what his new wand could do.


	2. A smile like sunshine

There was one key rule to respect in Concoret, and it was that you didn’t disturb Severin Corneille with no reason. The man was, simply put, stern. He wasn’t tall, barely above 5’4, but his face was sharp and his eyes were dark and narrow, harsh and judgmental. His jet-black hair fell to his shoulders in a somewhat unkempt mess and made him look like a raven, something that was further enhanced by his usual attire: a black, knee-length duffel coat that he wore no matter the weather. People gave him a wide berth, especially since rumour had it the man somehow knew magic.

You didn’t mess with someone who knew magic, even if it was just a rumour. You lived longer that way.

There was one person, however, with whom _Monsieur Corneille_ dropped his austere appearance. It was his nephew, little Henry Corneille, a bundle of sunshine with messy hair like his uncle and wide green eyes that shone with constant joy. If anyone doubted such a harsh-looking man was fit to be a father, one just had to look at the boy to squash these doubts. A sharp, severe man couldn’t raise a boy who was so cheerful.

School ended as the last bell rang. Severin Corneille crossed the street, face closed off, heedless of the people around him. He watched the children leave the school’s ground, boys and girls running to their parents’ arms. There was only one that mattered, a single boy who soon ran at him and jumped in his arms.

“Hello, Uncle!”

“Hello, Henry. Good day, today?”

The boy looked at him, wide eyes filled with mirth. Severin smiled and, for the briefest moment, the world seemed brighter. The two walked home hand in hand.

Ms. Zahmani had no shame admitting she stayed in the schoolyard just to catch this smile. She also knew she wasn’t the only one. A certain number of parents lingered at the school’s entrance for that single moment in the day where Mr. Corneille dropped his dour looks and smiled for the person that mattered the most to him. Everyone agreed it was totally worth it.

Henry and his uncle walked home, oblivious. The boy was telling his uncle about his day and Severin was quietly listening, nodding when needed and commenting when he should. They reached their home, a small yet comfy house on the outskirts of Concoret. People called it the Scented House because of the odd fragrances the wind sometimes carried. Henry wholeheartedly agreed. Depending what his uncle brewed in his cauldrons, the place could smell strange. He was used to it. In the Muggle World, Severin Corneille was a distant man you went to see when you were sick and the doctors couldn’t help – and, even then, it was considered a last resort. In the Wizarding World, he was a mail-in potion maker. People sent him requests by owl and he sent packages of potions through the same means, along with the price. Being skilled at his job, his fees were often high. It allowed them to live comfortably.

Henry sat at the table and started on his homework. It was one thing his uncle was unforgiving about. Help would be given if requested, but Severin didn’t tolerate slacking. In the meantime, the wizard went to work. He had three different potions to brew: a full box of Restauration for Beauxbatons Academy, a Volubilis and a Calming Draught. He worked on the cauldrons, glancing at the door when Henry, his homework finished, entered the room and sat. The boy watched him, silent. He knew the rule: watching and asking were fine, but he wasn’t allowed to touch anything. The boy listened, because he trusted his uncle.

That evening, the pair sat around a platter of crepes.

“Delicious.” Henry grinned. “You make them well, Uncle. Much better than at the canteen.”

Severin smiled at the praise.

“Glad you like it. Was homework hard?”

“Nope. Easy as always. I understand everything.”

“Good. You are a sharp boy, Henry. Keep studying.”

The boy hummed and looked at the Brewing Room.

“Say, Uncle, when will you let me make potions? You never let me help you.”

“Because you’re too young yet. Some potions are dangerous, especially if you brew them wrong. Once you start studying magic, I will let you assist me, but not before. And the same goes for our garden. You can tend to the mundane one, but the magical garden is off-limit. Some of the plants I keep can try to kill you if you handle them wrong.”

Henry dutifully listened. If his uncle said something was out to kill him, he had everything to gain to listen.

“At least, you let me cook.”

Severin looked at the seven-year-old.

“Cooking isn’t that different from making potions. You have a recipe you need to follow. The only difference is that the ingredients and their mixing are less dangerous than potion-making.”

“And, even then, you watch me.”

“Some of the pans are too heavy for you and some jars are out of reach.”

Henry conceded that point. Eventually, it was time for bed. Severin lined the boy and turned off the lights. A storm was brewing outside. He could feel it. An unnatural howl echoed outside and the stench of ozone filled the kitchen. Severin growled.

“Fenrir Greyback.”

He clutched his left forearm, where the Dark Mark used to be. It had cost him one huge favour from Selayna, the dryad, to have it removed. Still, he was glad he did. He was no longer a Death Eater. Any loyalty toward Voldemort had died with Lily. Taking his mistletoe wand, he walked to the werewolf. The full moon was shining above the clouds, causing him to bite his lip. The fight wouldn’t be easy.

“So, this is where the traitor hid.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to find me.” Severin quietly said. “And you won’t be the last. Others have hunted us before. You will not leave.”

Greyback chuckled.

“Neither will you. Turning you would be fun, but you betrayed us. I am going to eat you alive, traitor.” The werewolf licked his lips. “Then, I will take the boy back, and we are going to have _fun_ with him. The Dark Lord will be avenged! Die, Severus Snape!”

Severus snarled.

“You first, monster.”

There was a storm in the sky and a storm in his chest. He let it out as a driving rain fell. Greyback was mid-transformation when the lightning struck. He still transformed in full. Calling upon the winds, Severus took flight. He wouldn’t need his wand, merely the power of the Ancient Folks. Wind and lightning were raging around him. They heeded his wrath and obeyed. The advantage of having a Fae of the Fall Court as a grandmother: he could commend the elements without needing a wand. More than potions, more than wizard magic, this was where the true threat came from. He had never used it as a Death Eater, and only a few times at Hogwarts. As Severin Corneille? The Fey magic was his deadliest asset. Greyback learned it the hard way.

In the Scented House, Henry awoke with a start.

“Uncle!”

Jumping from his bed, he switched on his bed lamp. The lamp didn’t light up. The boy tried again, then tried to light his room. Nothing happened. Anything electrical was off.

“Did the fuses blow?”

He took a candle, went to the Brewing Room and lit it with one of the fires. Soon after, the door opened and Severin entered, exhausted and soaked to the bone.

“Henry?”

“Uncle! Are you alright?”

The wizard managed to take his wand and cast Lumos. Then he silently dried himself and fell on the sofa. The boy put the candle on the table and climbed to his side.

“I’m fine, Henry. Just tired. Very tired.”

Henry curled against him.

“The fuses blew and the storm was loud. What happened? Did you fight?”

“Yes.” Severin breathed. “I fought a werewolf. The worst of them.”

“Then it’s alright. I know you made sure he would never hurt anyone again.”

Severin smiled fondly, fingers tangling in the boy’s hair. Fenrir Greyback had been bar none his fiercest opponent, in no small part because of his sheer resilience. In the end, it had taken a well-aimed lightning bolt at a nearby power line, then a careful wind gust that sent said line to touch the werewolf.

One thing he had learned early among Muggles was that water and lightning mixed poorly. Soaked by the rain, Greyback had been fried alive. Only a charred corpse remained. Though he was thoroughly wrung, the former Death Eater felt deep satisfaction knowing one of Voldemort’s most vicious lieutenants was out of the picture for good. Henry left the sofa and returned with a slice of brioche. Severin forced himself to eat it. After such a fight, he needed the energy. His ward took him to bed and, just this once, he was the one to line his uncle.

Just this once.

Naturally, Henry was late to school the next day. It wasn’t his fault, though. His uncle had woken at nine, and the boy never went to school alone. His uncle took him there and walked him back every day. Officially, it was normal for a parent. Unofficially, as Greyback had demonstrated, there were Death Eaters looking for them, and Severus Snape would be damned if he ever left Lily’s son alone and defenceless. Since it was his fault this time, the teachers forgave the boy.

As he walked back home, the wizard made a small detour. The whole town was still suffering from the blackout. A small Mending Charm restored the broken power line. He silently hoped it would solve the problem. He put a stasis spell on the Brewing Room and spent the day reading and dozing in the sofa.

Henry wasn’t alone when he left school that afternoon. With him was his best friend, a chestnut-haired, amber-eyed boy one year older than him. François Tahri was one of the few children Severin’s harsh looks didn’t scare, and he genuinely cared for Henry. As such, he was one of the few people the wizard trusted. His mother, Marion Tahri, was another.

“Hello, Monsieur Corneille!”

“Good afternoon, François.”

He turned to the boy’s mother and nodded. The woman returned the nod. The four walked away together.

“How are you doing?”

“Fine. Thanks for asking.”

The wizard hesitated.

“What about François? It will be two years since his father left us.”

Marion grimaced.

“He still misses him. Jean-Luc and François were close. That god-forsaken lung cancer took less than a year to kill him, and that was with your brews killing his pain and helping him breathe by the end. They made his last days less painful, but they didn’t stop the disease. François is still struggling with his absence.”

“Is Henry’s presence helping?”

This time, Marion’s smile was earnest.

“Greatly. They talk a lot, and your nephew is always dragging him to new activities to take his mind off. Henry is one of the few people who can make François smile.”

Severin nodded. There was a reason he had studied Muggle medicine: cancer was rare among wizards, but a rather common affliction among Muggles. Neither species had a cure. Having to watch Jean-Luc Tahri waste away had convinced the potion maker to figure out one. But, to do so, he needed a knowledge of biology only Muggles had. Hence his study. Besides his job and raising Henry, it gave him a project to focus on, one that really made use of his talents.

The two boys did homework in the garden and played there. Then, once François and his mother had left; Henry mischievously turned to his uncle.

“Why don’t you two stay together? You like each other. I can tell.”

Severin held the urge to roll his eyes. He was far from the only one to have suggested he and Marion become a couple. He knelt to the boy’s level.

“Henry, it will never happen for a very good reason: I still love your mother. Lily is the only woman I ever fell for, and there will be no one after her.”

Henry looked at him, green eyes shining with curiosity. His uncle rarely talked about his parents but, when he talked about his mother, there was a fondness in his voice no one could miss.

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course. You’re a child. You don’t know love like this.”

“I can tell it’s strong. Even death didn’t break it. But, since you’re not my father, she didn’t love you back.”

Severin looked down, saddened.

“She did, once upon a time. But I wronged her. I made a terrible mistake that made her hate me and drove a wedge between us. Still, I loved her. I was sorry. I never meant to hurt her.”

“You still did. Did she forgive you?”

“I don’t think so.” Severin sighed and put the boy on his knees. “I told you about the Dark Lord and those who opposed him. Your parents, James and Lily, were among them, and they died protecting you. Much as I hated James, I cared greatly for Lily. It is because I love her that I hid you there and raised you. Because I…”

He hesitated. The boy looked more insistently.

“Because?”

“Because I used to be a Death Eater. I used to serve the Dark Lord. I did a lot of wrong things during this time, one of which drove the Dark Lord to target you. He killed your mother despite me begging him not to. Any loyalty for him died with Lily. Now, I am doing what I can to atone for my mistakes and undo the wrongs I committed. Watching over you is one of these things. After all, it is my fault you’re an orphan.”

Henry hesitated. On one hand, his uncle was an awesome man and the boy loved him greatly. On the other… He had once been a bad guy who got his parents killed. After consideration, he decided to focus on the _once_.

“I forgive you. If you’re trying to undo the bad things you did, it means you’re a good guy, now. I hope Mom can forgive you too.”

Severin held him tight.

“I am not your father, Henry. I never will. I do not deserve to be. But I can raise you like your parents would have, until you are a better man than James and I.”

The boy snuggled in his chest.

“Why do you hate Dad?”

“He and I never liked each other. He was arrogant and a bully, but he eventually chose to stand against the Dark Lord. Me? The Dark Arts fascinated me, and the friends I made were bad people who joined the Dark Lord. We had nothing in common. I could tell you countless tales of the hexes and insults we threw at each other, but I don’t want to. For all he did to me, he still won Lily’s heart. I have to give him that, at least.”

“You wish you were my dad, sometime.”

“Yes. But I’m not. Because I wasn’t good enough.”

The boy shook his head.

“You’re good, now. And you’re my dad, kinda. You just call yourself my uncle.”

He was right, and the former Death Eater knew it. They stayed in each other’s arms as twilight fell.

* * *

 **Small clarification: Harry and Snape use** Henry **and** Severin Corneille **in France and** Harry Potter **and** Severus Snape **in England. The naming changes depending the country but both are still valid.**


	3. The legacy of Fall

Severin smiled as little Henry carefully served dinner. The pan was heavy for an eight-year-old, but it was exactly what magic was for.

“I need special herbs tomorrow. We will get them together.”

“Really? Thanks, Uncle Sev!”

Henry loved trekking in Paimpont. The forest was beautiful and the creatures weren’t particularly dangerous if you didn’t threaten them. He and his uncle often went on harvesting trips, Severin teaching his ward about plants and their properties.

Though the forest’s official name was Paimpont, wizards still called the woods Broceliande. It was a place of magic and legends, and the presence of an entity like Selayna confirmed quite a few of them. Severin had done his research. Dryads, as far as the Wizarding World was concerned, were extinct. Only their feebler descendants, the erklings, pukwudgies and leprechauns were still around, and they didn’t possess a modicum of the power Severin had seen Selayna display. He didn’t know how dryads had gone so close to extinction, and he was worried to find out what could have caused entities capable of commanding entire woodlands to disappear.

The next day, uncle and nephew put on their coat, took a basket and entered the forest. It was a week-end. The sun was bright and brought a welcoming touch of warmth in this early April day. Henry saw a herd of unicorns that neighed in greeting. Broceliande was Selayna’s domain, and the dryad was a friend of the pair. All livings in the forest showed them at least some respect. The dryad herself joined them halfway.

“A fruitful harvest so far, I see.”

“Selayna. How kind of you to join us.”

“Few are the mortals, wizards and Muggles alike, that I can call friends. Your company is always appreciated.”

She walked with them. Their meanderings took them to the pond of Pas du Houx, the largest water surface of the forest. Henry and Severin froze, startled, when they saw something none of them had noticed before.

It was a ruined fortress, but the architecture fit no style they knew. It looked ethereal, spires of translucent glass, crimson stone and stainless copper racing to the sky. Selayna grimaced.

“The Fall Citadel, last stronghold of the Court of Fall during the Wars of Magic, a thousand years ago. A bastion of the Ancient Folks. I usually steer clear from this place. Lots of bad memories from the Wars.”

Somehow, Severin wasn’t surprised the dryad was so old. Henry looked at the fortress.

“Is there any treasure left?”

“Of course. The wards may have waned with time, but it was still one of the Court’s headquarters. It wasn’t meant to be found, either by Muggles or by wizards. That you can see it at all says how much of those defences are gone.”

Henry turned to his uncle, eager. Severin sighed. Usually, going into a magical ruin without a team of curse breakers, especially one belonging to the Ancient Folks, was tantamount to suicide. However, as he waved his wand in the air, he could indeed tell that a lot of the magic protecting the ruin was gone. He decided to risk it. Dropping the basket next to Selayna, he and the boy wandered in.

The place was overrun with vegetation. Moss and ivy covered the walls as the roots of millennial trees launched themselves to the buildings and undermined the roads. The citadel was protected by two concentric fortifications, the bailey dedicated to maintaining the army while the inner ward was dedicated to command. Henry and Severin navigated the maze of wood, metal and stone, the wizard keeping his wand high in case of trouble. They didn’t find any. Out of caution, the former Death Eater decided to only explore the bailey. They found several barracks, four in all, each equipped with a mess hall and dormitories. Right next to each was a smithy and an armoury, and the pair was surprised to find most of the equipment was in fairly good shape. Henry looked but didn’t touch. Severin analysed them.

“I sense magic on them. Every weapon and armour were enhanced with protective charms. They have decayed with time, but the stronger are still active, albeit to a fragment of their old strength.” A grin crossed his face. “This would make an impressive archaeological find. The fortress isn’t too damaged and the equipment is functional. Besides, though I can tell what the charms do, they look very little like the versions we use. Shielding charm, Self-Repair… Uh? What does… Oh, clever! Not just healing but an actual Regeneration Charm. This one is uncommon even today.”

Henry was a little away. Looking around, he found a strange silhouette leaning against the smithy’s door. He walked to it, curious…

“Aaah!”

Severin jumped, wand and lightning at the ready. Finding his charge didn’t take long. The boy had been spooked by a mummified corpse, still dressed in slender silver and bronze armour. Its long hair was more or less intact, and the armour itself looked like no model produced by man. The entity was an Ancient Folk. It was sitting cross-legged, as if death had taken it slumbering. A curved sword in its scabbard was on its lap. Henry knelt to it and gave his uncle an inquisitive look. Severin passed his wand over the sword.

“No curse that I can sense. It’s safe.”

Henry took it.

“I’ll keep it with me. It will make a nice memento.”

Severin let him. The sword was actually an oddly straight sabre, closer in looks to a Kabyle flyssa than a Japanese katana. It was nearly as tall as the boy but, the moment he held it, sword and scabbard shrunk to adjust to his short size. Severin ran his wand again, trying to figure out what spell was involved. He didn’t find it.

They were walking back to the exit when they heard sniffing. It sounded like a child. Finding the source didn’t take long. It was a blonde eleven-year-old girl, curled under a set of stairs and wearing a uniform Severin identified as belonging to Beauxbatons. The girl was oddly cute, almost supernaturally so. The pair knelt to her level.

“Are you alright?”

The girl looked at them.

“Do you… Do you know the way out? I’m lost.”

“We do.” Severin reassured. “Come with us.”

“Thanks.”

As they walked to the exit, the elder Wizard asked the girl.

“How did you end there?”

“I – I was on a school trip with my class. Broceliande, it’s a legendary forest. I went exploring but, but I got lost and found that fortress. I couldn’t get out."

“What’s your name?” Henry asked.

“Fleur. Fleur Delacour.”

“Pretty.”

The girl giggled and, for the first time since they met, smiled. They were nearing the Citadel’s entrance when a hiss made them freeze.

“ _Intruders._ ”

Severin barely had time to push the children away.

“Hide!”

Henry and Fleur obeyed, diving behind a staircase. Henry clutched his sword when he saw what was coming after them.

It was an elf. Slender, pointy-eared and copper-haired, a slim and triangular face dotted with blood-red eyes and the cruellest expression both children had ever seen. It was clad in copper and bronze armour and wielded a dual-bladed sword. Severin immediately unleashed lightning. To everyone’s surprise, the elf swung his blades and the wind gale blocked the bolt. The wizard sheathed his wand. Against an opponent that strong, he would need his deadliest magic. Wind and lightning heeded him, carrying him and cloaking his body. The elf, somehow, seemed to find the sight amusing. He swung his blades, razor-sharp wind flying from each move. Severin answered blow for blow, lightning striking each gale before they could reach him. Wind swirled under the elf for a sucker punch, only for the Ancient Being to plant his weapon and cancel it. Severin gritted his teeth. He would have to focus on lightning.

It didn’t work. The elf answered each bolt with a gale, effortlessly countering the Fey-blooded wizard. Severin couldn’t help but feel fear. How was he supposed to fight such a being? The elf held a hand and, suddenly, all the air left his lungs. He grasped his throat, choking, desperate to breathe.

Somehow, during the scuffle, the elf had ended between Severin and the children. Fleur gasped, terrorized. Henry clutched his sword. He had to do something. He knew it. But would he be brave enough?

His uncle gasping gave him the courage to act. The boy ran in the elf’s back, sword in hand, and stabbed him beneath the ribs. The sword effortlessly tore through the armour. Henry stabbed, again and again and again as the elf shrieked in surprise and pain. He fell back, and the boy found himself trapped under the weight of the body.

Severin choked. Putting a hand on his chest, he used his mastery of the wind to force air back in his lungs. It had been close, way too close. He glanced at his opponent, only to drop everything as he saw Henry desperately struggling under the corpse. Fleur, after a moment of panic, had run to try and free him. But the girl was small and frail. The body was too heavy. The wizard sent a wind burst that flipped the corpse, freeing his nephew. Then he stumbled to him, still struggling to breathe. He didn’t care. His boy needed help.

Henry got on his knees, panting. Half his clothes were soaked in blood and there was still the phantom sensation of the heavy weight on him. A hand on his shoulder made him turn, and relief washed over him when he saw his uncle, alive despite the attack. Severin didn’t say a word. He just caressed the boy’s face, cast a thorough Scouring charm on his clothes and held him tight. The boy eagerly returned the hug.

“You did well. You did very well.”

Henry didn’t say a word. Words couldn’t express how relieved he was that his uncle was safe. They stayed that way until both had calmed down enough. Then the wizard took the two kids and left the fortress. Selayna was waiting for them.

“I heard the fight. I am impressed that you’re still alive.”

“Did you know one of the Ancient Folks was still in there?”

Selayna frowned deeply.

“The Fall Citadel was never truly conquered. When the armies of Wizardkind besieged it, they couldn’t get past the first wall. Instead, they poisoned the water supplies with Tarrasque venom. It left no survivor.” Her eyes fell on Henry’s sword. “Including the members of the One Hundred that were within. So, to answer your question, no. I truly thought the ruin was empty.”

Severin frowned deeply and cast a Muffliato charm for some privacy.

“A Tarrasque is what you had me kill in return for removing the Dark Mark. That was anything but easy.”

“Neither was removing the Mark. I asked you a favour with regard to the difficulty of your own request. Besides, the way you took it out was ingenious. Its shell made it magic-proof, so you just saturated its bog with lightning.”

Severin grumbled.

“A turtle-like dragon that breathes a venom nasty enough to wither anything it touches and whose shell is impervious to any form of magic. I am lucky its kind dwells in marches.”

He ended the charm and held his wand.

“ _Point Me._ ”

The wand pointed north. Severin turned to Selayna.

“There should be a group of Beauxbatons students somewhere. Do you know where they are? This girl got separated from her friends.”

“I do. Follow the unicorn.”

Her one-horned companion neighed. The three wizards followed it until they reached the forest’s edge. Indeed, a group of several dozen Beauxbatons students and their teachers were here. Fleur ran to them. Henry and Severin watched her be welcomed back with much joy and relief. When the teachers looked at the edge, they briefly saw a tall and a small dark figure that quickly vanished.

The pair didn’t want to linger. They retreated in the forest and returned to the Citadel.

“Glad to know the girl is safe.” Selayna smiled.

“You are the dryad of Broceliande. You know everything that happens within these woods.” Severin pointed. “Now, I have a few questions.”

“Of course, you do. I can already answer the first one.”

“Do you even know what it is?”

“Of course. It is about your nephew’s sword. You took note of my words when I looked at it.”

Severin picked the herb basket and walked with his ward and the dryad. The creature looked pained as she reminisced.

“A long-forgotten legend speaks of a contest. Once upon a time, the greatest artisans of the world gathered to forge one hundred swords for the rulers of the magical kind, the Kings and Queens of Seasons. It took one year to create each blade. In the end, all were presented to the Four Courts.”

Henry and Severin listened, curious. Selayna continued.

“Each sword had a different property, and each was as amazing as the other. There were three, however, that were deemed stronger than all others: the Sword of Sundering, the Sword of Oblivion and the Sword of Mending. These swords, the First Three, were deemed the three greatest swords ever known.”

“What does it have to do with mine?” Henry asked.

“Your sword isn’t one of the Three.” Selayna sighed sadly. “It is the Thirty-Eighth Sword, _Sy’naioh_ , the Faithful Edge. Each of the One Hundred Swords has a power. Sy’naioh’s power is to appear in the hand of its current wielder. No matter where you are, if you call for it, Sy’naioh will answer and appear in your hand, even if you are on another continent. This is why it is known as the Faithful Edge.”

Severin looked at his wand.

“Knowing how helpless a wizard without his wand is, a weapon that can be summoned to hand is invaluable.”

“Indeed. A warrior should never be weaponless.”

Henry could also appreciate the ability, even if it sounded boring on paper.

“What about the other swords?”

Selayna seemed melancholic.

“Each sword was given to one of the strongest fighters of the Courts. These One Hundred champions were the personal bodyguards of the Seasonal Rulers and their agents, the strongest fighters in the world. During the Wars of Magic, each member was a match for one thousand wizards, regardless the power of their Sword. As the Fall Citadel demonstrated, some could only be defeated through trickery. Alas, by the end of the Wars, the Order was as dead as the Seasonal Courts. I don’t know where the other Swords are or what fate befell them. I am not surprised you found one in the Fall Citadel, but I didn’t know it was Sy’naioh, and I do not know whether it is the only one or not, and what the others could be.”

Henry and Severin both looked at the blade. It had looked rather ordinary at first. Hard to believe it was actually one of a set of a hundred swords of legendary might.

“I’m keeping it.” The boy decided. “And I’ll learn how to use it. Uncle is right: a wizard without his wand is in trouble. He got his wind and lightning to compensate but, once I get my wand, I’ll be like the other wizards unless I learn to use Sy’naioh right.”

“Not a bad idea.” Severin reluctantly approved. “Given who is after you, I feel safer knowing you have more than you magic to rely on. The Dark Lord may be gone, but his followers are still out there, and all want you dead.”

Henry glared.

“They got Mom and Dad, and the Dark Lord almost got me too. I won’t let him kill me.”

“And neither will I. If either Voldemort or the Death Eaters target you, they will find me in their way. I promised your mother, and I intend to keep my word.”

He caressed his left forearm and folded his sleeve. Instead of a faint tattoo of a skull vomiting a snake, there was a large patch of white scar tissue. The wizard winced. To remove the Dark Mark, Selayna had magically flayed his skin. Even with his powers and his potions, it had taken him several months to heal. The dryad glanced at the patch.

“ _The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives._ This is the entire content of the prophecy that led to the Dark Lord targeting Harry’s family.”

Severin made a sharp turn.

“How do you know it!?”

“I am one of the Ancient Folk. Prophecies are written in Fate, and Fate is written within the World. Most, if not all, are open to interpretation, but however you see the omens and read them, the fact still is that prophecies will come true. They will have their twist. They will be hard to figure. But they will happen, just not in the way you may have predicted.”

The wizard looked down.

“Back then, I only heard the first part. So, this is the full content of the prophecy. I do not like it.”

“I agree.” The dryad nodded. “This is a dark one. But there are many ways to interpret its portents.”

Severin agreed. They would have to wait and see, and he would have to make sure his ward was ready when the time came. Hopefully, Harry would be a late teen or an adult by then.

Henry, meanwhile, grippe his sword tight. Now, he knew why his family had died. It hadn’t been a coincidence: the prophecy had driven the Dark Lord to seeing him as a threat. Well, his loss. His parents may have died but the boy had survived. And, frankly speaking, he didn’t need a prophecy to tell him he would have to kill Voldemort.

The evil wizard had taken his original family. It was already personal.


	4. An introduction to magic

Severin watched Henry train in the garden. The eleven-year-old was moving, sword in hand, in fluid and graceful motions. As agreed, he had taken to learning swordsmanship, helped in that by the books recovered by Selayna. The dryad had taken on herself and scavenged the Fall Citadel, obtaining the books and translating them from Ancient Fey to modern French. It had been a bit difficult to learn solely based on the books, but the boy had done it and mastered the bases. Soon, he would try the more intricate techniques but, for now, he focused on the simpler moves. Severin was fine with that. Personally, his wizard and Fey magic fit him just fine.

A little away, sitting at the table, François and Fleur were doing their homework. That François was a wizard had come as a complete surprise. The former Death Eater still remembered how he had learned about it.

_He was not particularly surprised when Marion came knocking at his door. The woman was one of the few people brave enough to disturb him in his own house. The actual surprise was in the letter in her hand. It was neat and written in dark blue ink, with the seal of Beauxbatons neatly printed on the mail: two crossed wands each shooting three stars. Marion looked him dead in the eyes._

_“It is sort of an open secret that you are at least knowledgeable in magic if you don’t practice it. That’s why I need your opinion: does it look like a hoax?”_

_It wasn’t. The letter was addressed to François, an invitation to study magic at Beauxbatons Academy. The boy was a Muggleborn wizard. That evening, he had explained everything to the pair, about the Wizarding World and Wizardkind, their customs and the various academies of magic. François had been curious. Marion had been sceptic. Still, they had answered positively. Henry’s friend would study at the French magic school. Henry and Severin had taken them through floo to Place Cachée in Paris, the heart of Wizard France, and the commercial district of Chemin de Sept Lieues. The magic of the place had been genuinely awing._

_In Beauxbatons, François had met Fleur Delacourt. Upon hearing he was friend with the people who had saved her, the girl had taken on herself to mentor the Muggleborn boy. The two had become great friends, and Fleur had been very happy to reunite with Henry and Severin the following holidays._

Now, the three were friends, and close ones at that despite the age difference. Severin was silently glad. Henry didn’t have any wizard friends beside them. It was good for him to have people with which he could openly discuss magic. Much as he understood the need for discretion, the boy had admitted several times the secrecy could be heavy.

That evening, the boy found a cute tabby cat on the low wall. The cat purred when he petted it and gladly drank the milk bowl he gave it. However, when Severin saw the cat, he felt the blood freeze in his veins.

“Cute kitty.” Henry grinned. “Fluffy kitty. Uncle, can we keep it?”

“It already belongs to someone else.” Severin said as he barely managed to hide his dread. “Go to bed, now. Come on.”

As soon as the boy was gone, Severin crossed his arms and glared at the cat. The cat transformed into an elderly woman with an emerald robe and pointy hat. The stench of ozone slowly filled the area. Minerva McGonagall shook her head.

“No need to be so defensive, Severus. I mean no harm.”

“You are good at shielding your mind, Professor. I cannot use Legilimency to read your thoughts. Your intentions are unknown to me.” He looked around. “I suppose Dumbledore is around?”

“He is waiting away. You can calm down, Severus. Really. Neither of us intend to hurt Harry.”

Reluctantly, the Fey-blooded wizard released his powers. He still refused to let her in.

“What do you want?”

“You aren’t easy to find.” The professor smiled. “I will go straight to the point. We wanted to see how you and Harry were doing after your sudden disappearance. Then we would offer you a place in Hogwarts. I have Harry’s letter with me, and Professor Dumbledore is considering asking you to become our Master of Potions.”

Severus glowered.

“You know I am a former Death Eater, right?”

“Yes, and we know quite a few of your old comrades went missing around these parts, notably Fenrir Greyback, Thorfinn Rowle, Roman Selwyn and Hayden Mulciber. No body was ever found, but I strongly doubt you let them alive.”

“Guilty as charged.” Snape didn’t look the least bit remorseful. “The acromantulas are always hungry for fresh meat. They are willing to give me their venom even if said meat is already dead. The only exception was Greyback. Getting fried by a powerline didn’t leave much to eat.”

McGonagall couldn’t help but shudder. Severus Snape had always possessed a vicious streak. While she was glad he was aiming it at people who actually had it coming, the fact it had developed like this actually worried her. If anyone tried to hurt Harry, she wouldn’t give much of their lives, and she had the sinking feeling she, Dumbledore and the whole Hogwarts staff was included. Dumbledore chose that moment to appear.

“Severus.”

“Professor.”

Snape’s voice was tense. The air didn’t smell like ozone so there was no lightning around, but both teachers knew lightning was _fast_ , and the potion maker could summon his at a moment’s notice. Dumbledore gave his friendliest smile. Snape wasn’t fooled. Hogwarts’s headmaster had a not undeserved reputation of being manipulative. He would let neither Harry nor himself become pawns.

“May we come in, Severus? It is getting quite dark.”

Snape let them in.

“Start anything and die.”

This had the merit of being clear. Dumbledore and McGonagall made a point of avoiding any use of magic. Dumbledore was still smiling as he took the offered tea and sipped it.

“I have to admit, Severus, Harry is surprisingly well-adjusted. I didn’t think you would take care of him so well.”

“He isn’t just James’ son.” Snape retorted. “He is Lily’s as well. I owe her a debt I can only ever hope to repay.”

Dumbledore nodded quietly. When no one had found Harry in his parents’ house that night, he had moved heaven and earth to find out what had become of the boy. It had taken him way too long – to his taste – to learn Snape had taken him away. He had been scared at first. Knowing the legendary rivalry between James Potter and Severus Snape, he had feared the worst. So, he had searched for the former Death Eater. Interrogating one of their captive members, which Moody had caught by chance, they had learned several Death Eaters had gone missing in France, near Broceliande. They had turned their search there.

They’d been right. Harry and Snape were indeed living near the magical forest. However, several details had struck them. First, Harry was happy. Second, Snape was happy. Third, they had been lucky to watch him defeat a Death Eater. This act had confirmed a suspicion that had been gnawing at them since Harry’s disappearance: Snape had switched sides. The former Death Eater had taken to himself to raise the son of his former rival, and he had done a great job at it. Dumbledore had no shame admitting the discovery had stumped him. Never had he ever considered that possibility.

While he told all this to his former student, he kept to himself that it was a huge spanner in his plans. In turn, Snape shared with them his life with Harry in Concoret. However, he didn’t tell them about the Fall Citadel and the Ancient lore Selayna had entrusted them with.

“So, off to Hogwarts, uh? I was hesitating between Hogwarts and Beauxbatons. I guess we will pick the former since you have a job for me. Slughorn is retiring?”

“Yes. He said he wanted to enjoy his old age.” Dumbledore frowned. “Severus, there is something else I want to offer. Because of Lily’s sacrifice, Harry is protected by a powerful enchantment. There is a ritual that can guarantee his safety.”

Snape listened. Dumbledore took it as a good omen.

“The Bond of Blood charm. Lily’s sister, Petunia, is still alive. If you would let Harry live with her and she agreed –”

“Harry? With _Petunia?_ Over my dead body.”

Once again, the Fey-blooded wizard didn’t chew his words. McGonagall tensed as Snape jumped from the sofa.

“Professor, are you out of your mind? Petunia and her family loathe anything related to magic. Maybe Harry would be protected, but he would be sad with them. They would abuse him. Harry is never setting a foot in the Dursley’s home if I can help it!”

“Severus, the charm is extremely potent. Harry would be safe from Voldemort and the Death Eaters.”

“He is just as safe with me, and he is happy. Trust me, a former Death Eater with a grudge and lots of lightning can do the job just fine.”

Dumbledore hesitated. It was clear the potion maker wouldn’t let it go.

“Hogwarts isn’t your home, Severus. Are you sure you can protect him there?”

“Try me. I will be teaching there. I will see him regularly, and Harry trusts me enough to find me when trouble starts. If anything in that castle tries to hurt him, it will find me in its path. I made Lily a promise. I intend to keep it.”

Once again, Dumbledore was reminded of the formidable power Love held. Snape had loved Lily with all his heart. This love had allowed him to see beyond hate and watch over Harry not as the son of his former rival but as the son of the love of his life. He would protect the boy to his drying breath, because he was his father in all but blood. And, from what he had seen, Harry loved his uncle just as much.

“Out of curiosity, have you told Harry about your past?”

“Yes, when he was seven.” Snape’s face was oddly soft. “In his words, _if I’m trying to undo the bad things I did, it means I’m a good guy, now._ He forgave me.”

Indeed. Uncle and nephew cared greatly for each other. Dumbledore decided to trust the strength of their bond. He would have to play carefully to see the prophecy fulfilled and Voldemort destroyed, but it felt like a weight off his chest to know Harry had someone caring to rely on.

“Speaking of, I know the prophecy. All of it. Harry does, too, and he has outright said he doesn’t need it to target the Dark Lord. He killed his parents. It is already personal, and I fully intend to help him. Voldemort owes me for Lily’s life.”

And… another spanner. The professor summarily shelved any thought of manipulating the pair. They were powerful, they had a grudge, and they were set on getting involved. It would be much safer to treat them as equals when plotting Voldemort’s final demise. Who knew? They may have good ideas.

The evening went on relatively quietly, Snape having accepted the job offer. The next day, he gave Henry his acceptance letter and organized everything. The wards of the Scented House were reinforced, Selayna promising to watch over the place. Marion, François and Fleur were told about the pair moving, though it would only be for the duration of the school. The Scented House was their home and they fully intended to return during the holidays. Marion, who was the only one in Concoret aware that Harry and Severus were wizards, promised she’d take care of the place in their absence. Severus also had to plan his classes.

Before they left, Selayna had a gift for Harry. A beautiful phoenix flew to her shoulder as a holly shrub grew at her side. She picked a branch and pruned it as the phoenix took one of its feathers. Then Selayna combined the branch and the feather. The result was a wand, eleven inches and crafted by a member of the Ancient Folk. Harry respectfully took it. Then they went to London.

They booked a room in the Leaky Cauldron for the duration of August. Severus had made sure Harry was equally fluent in French and English, so changing countries wasn’t a real problem. Neither was meandering in Diagon Alley. The place was a lot like Place Cachée and the Chemin de Sept Lieues. The real issue was that Harry was famous. And the boy really hated that fame.

“It’s misplaced. Mom killed the Dark Lord. Posthumously, sure, but she’s still the one who got him. They shouldn’t look up to me just because I lived.”

“I agree, but people in large numbers are morons. Keep your head low and ignore it. We know the truth.”

Easier said than done. At Madam Malkin’s shop, Harry met a blonde boy with a drawling voice. Though he tried to be friendly, there was something about him that put Harry on guard. Maybe it was in the arrogance of his tone. Maybe it was how spoiled he seemed. It definitely was because he saw Snape by the window and called him a creepy crow guy. This, Harry decided, was an absolute deal-breaker. He had to refrain himself from starting a fight in the middle of the shop. Instead, he remembered the boy’s face and put it on his black list.

“Are you alright, Harry?”

“That other _salopiaud_ called you a creepy crow guy. I don’t care we end in the same House at Hogwarts. I’m not befriending him.”

Snape looked at the boy, who had just left the shop to reunite with a figure he was quite familiar with.

“Lucius Malfoy… Harry, let’s leave.”

“Got it.”

He didn’t ask why. If his uncle said they were leaving in a tone filled with loathing, he wasn’t going to be difficult. They got an owl, the next day. She was white with golden eyes. Harry called her Hedwig.

Finally, the day came to go to King’s Cross and board the Hogwarts Express. Harry was excited.

“I will use the floo network to go directly to Hogwarts. We will meet there, Harry.”

“Got it, uncle. See you soon!”

“See you soon, Harry.”

Then the boy crossed the barrier and boarded the train. He couldn’t wait to start school.


End file.
